


We’ll Always Have The Beach House

by Beauxxxtiful_lies



Series: Kinkmas 2019/2020 [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidental Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Ice Play, Light Angst, M/M, Minor HQ!! Manga Spoilers, Mutual Pining, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beauxxxtiful_lies/pseuds/Beauxxxtiful_lies
Summary: Oikawa has always been fascinated with Hanamaki’s mouth. It’s not his fault when Makki keeps drawing attention to it.He realizes at the start of their week long beach vacation that he may like more thanjusthis mouth.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Oikawa Tooru
Series: Kinkmas 2019/2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580755
Comments: 14
Kudos: 76
Collections: HQ Sin Central Kinkmas in July 2020





	We’ll Always Have The Beach House

**Author's Note:**

> FYI, I tagged minor manga spoilers, but it’s like _very_ minor. I tried to keep things vague. 
> 
> HAPPY (very belated) KINKMAS IN JULY!
> 
>  **Prompts**  
>  Day 1: Popsicles  
> Kinks: Ice Play, Food Play, Face Fucking, Free: Oral Fixation, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism (barely, but I’m counting it) 
> 
> Enjoy 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

Oikawa has a secret.

He really, _really_ likes Hanamaki’s mouth.

It’s probably not a secret at all. Not with the way he keeps catching himself staring.

If he thinks about it though, it’s not his fault. It’s Makki’s fault. For drawing attention to those cute pink lips in the first place. How in the hell is he supposed to keep from staring when Hanamaki keeps putting things in there?

He’s like a puppy...or a toddler with their favorite set of blocks—his perfectly straight teeth are always chewing away at something. 

He’s always been that way, too. At least, ever since high school. Candies, and pen caps, and straws, and his thumbnail (always the left hand, never the right—a habit that seems not to have changed in their time apart).

The little pink tip of Makki’s tongue pokes out between his teeth when he’s really concentrating hard on something. When he’s anxious he furrows his brow and worries his lip in a way that makes Tooru’s heart stutter. And when he’s happy the corner of his mouth quirks in a grin that makes him feel short of breath, even when the only time Tooru gets to see it anymore is during their exceedingly rare video chats (not counting this vacation week, of course). 

He doesn’t think about what that might mean—that tight feeling in his chest. He doesn’t want to. In those rare moments when his thoughts wander too far he pulls himself back with the reminder that, given the thousands of miles that separate them now, it’s not worth considering. Especially not with so many years of friendship on the line, and Tooru wouldn’t sacrifice that for anything. He’d rather have Makki in his life this way than not at all.

The one thing that Oikawa’s willing to admit _(to himself and himself only)_ is that...

He really, _really_ likes Hanamaki’s mouth.

They’ve been lying on the sand in the hot sun all day, sipping on cheap beer, and stealing glances when they think the other isn’t looking. Tooru sees, though. 

He sees the way Makki’s eyes rake over his chest and linger in all the places a friendly gaze shouldn’t linger. He can almost feel the way they follow the sharp cut of his hip, the soft trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his swim trunks, the arch in his spine when he stretches out over the sand. 

So what if he’s flaunting a little bit? It feels good to have Makki’s eyes on him—different from the way he feels when he notices other people looking, but...good. He just can’t take to heart the way Makki reacts to his preening, he reminds himself. 

Makki flirts with everyone.

They both do. It’s harmless. It doesn’t really mean anything, and it wouldn’t matter if it did. 

But still...he can’t help but wonder when he sees Makki slide the tip of his tongue over his top lip, slowly tracing the Cupid’s bow of his mouth like he’s dreaming about what it would be like to trace those lines his eyes followed with his tongue instead.

To taste the sweat and the sea straight from Tooru’s skin.

Tooru can’t tell if he’s sun drunk, or beer drunk, or whether that lightheaded feeling is because of how desperately fast his heart pounds in his chest as he watches Makki curl his lips around the mouth of his beer bottle. He feels the air between them heat almost unbearably when he sees that little pink tongue flick out again to collect a stray droplet at the corner of his mouth.

“Looks like you need more sunscreen.”

He flinches, quickly redirecting his gaze away from Hanamaki’s lips, feeling like he was just caught doing something he shouldn’t be.

“Hmm?” He blinks, holding his breath as Makki leans over into his space, his suntanned arm casting a shadow as he reaches a hand up to brush the tips of his fingers over Tooru’s cheekbone.

“Your cheeks are pink.”

He feels his face flush hotter under Makki’s touch, but if his friend notices he doesn’t mention it. Tooru knows he should say something, but he can’t seem to find the words when he looks up at that mischievous grin eclipsing the sun.

In the back of his mind, he wonders if this feeling between his ribs is the same thing that sailors feel when they hear the sirens call—just before they’re smashed to bits on the rocks. Makki just smiles, eyes scanning Tooru’s face for a moment before he sucks his lower lip between his teeth.

“Come on,” Makki stands, brushing the sand off his legs and offering Tooru his hand. “Let’s go cool off before we burn to a crisp.”

* * *

The air isn’t much cooler inside the beach house, but still, it’s a welcome reprieve from the scorching heat of the sun.

The living room has an AC unit on the wall, but it’s too small to make much of a difference in the dead of summer. Instead, they’ve opted to keep the windows open and lie bare chested beneath the lazily spinning ceiling fans that adorn each room.

Iwaizumi and Matsukawa disappeared hours ago to who knows where, so the little vacation house is quiet except for a gentle rustling as the ocean breeze filters through the curtains. 

Oikawa reclines on the sofa, the heat from the beach fading to a pleasant hum in his limbs as he stretches his legs out. It’s a comfortable, hazy feeling. Warm and domestic as he listens to Hanamaki shuffling around the kitchen—until he feels a weight drop onto the other end of the sofa.

He opens his eyes to find Makki with his lips wrapped around a cherry red popsicle and all that heat returns in an instant.

Now Oikawa is burning all over as Makki sinks back against the cushion, hollowing his cheeks as he slowly pulls the frozen treat out of his mouth with a _pop!_

He tries not to stare while Makki swipes his tongue at a syrupy drip, only to plunge the ice pop back between his lips so far that Tooru is certain he had to have reached the back of his throat and...

_Oh gods..._

He shouldn’t be staring like he is, but he can’t stop.

He’s leaned back against the arm of the sofa with his knees spread toward the center. The image of Makki between his legs when he hollows out his cheeks again to pull back down the length and suckle at the tip is just...it’s too much. He holds his breath to keep from whimpering at the sight and digs his fingers into the meat of his thigh.

“Hey, Tooru.”

 _Shit._ He inhales shakily and his mind clears enough to realize he was just caught... _again._ But the way Makki said his name is something Tooru has only heard in his most secret of fantasies. It gives him a heady rush when Makki asks him in a low gravelly voice, “What flavor popsicle is your favorite?”

He still has at least some small sense of self preservation. Enough to stop himself from blurting out, _“Probably whichever flavor you taste like right now.”_

Instead he grins, a playful quirk of the lip, at least that’s what he’s going for, and settles himself a little deeper on the sofa.

“Hmm. Don’t know, Makki-chan,” he drawls. “Haven’t tried them all yet.”

The challenge is clear, but it's a chance ball in Makki’s court. He waits patiently for the return volley—something teasing and suggestive that he’ll think about alone in the shower later when he wraps a desperate hand around his aching cock—but still non-committal enough for them to both be able to pretend this is nothing more than friendly flirtation.

Platonic...harmless flirtation.

“Oh yeah? In that case...”

He feels frozen, pinned to the spot by Makki’s eyes as he watches him slowly drag the flat of his tongue from the wooden stick at the base of his popsicle all the way up the side, swirling it around before pursing his lips to suck at the tip when he reaches the top.

“You want a taste?”

Tooru feels his mouth run dry as his grin falters. He swallows down the feeling, unable to take his eyes away from Makki as he wets his lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Come here,” he hears himself say, even as his brain screams at him: _pull back—slow down—what are you doing?!_ In a moment they’ve repositioned, and he has Takahiro in his lap. His hands hover over Makki’s thighs as their eyes meet, questioning.

“You sure?” Makki sounds confident, but his voice is just more than a whisper, like he’s afraid to break the fragile spell that’s fallen over them. Tooru feels himself nod.

“Just a taste,” he says just as quietly. “Makki-chan.”

He doesn’t beg, but the plea is evident in the way his breath catches over the nickname—so much time spent denying something he thought he’d never have a chance at anyway, but now he’s desperate for it. His pulse stutters when Makki licks his lips again and leans in.

“Hold this for me,” Makki says, thrusting the slowly melting popsicle into his hand.

Before Tooru can formulate a response Makki’s hands are slipping over his shoulders into the hair at the nape of his neck. He hovers there, breath ghosting over Tooru’s cheek, straight white teeth biting into the flesh of his lip while his eyes scan Tooru’s for any signs of uncertainty.

Tooru’s own breaths are shallow and uneven as he stares back at him. He can’t read his expression, watching as Makki’s eyes tighten at the corners. Just as he thinks he’s about to reconsider, to pull back and play it off as a joke, Makki closes the distance between them and those pretty pink lips collide with his own.

It’s so, so soft, the way that they slot together. Gentle, the way the sea breeze had kissed their skin when they stretched out over the sandy beach. It catches Tooru off guard when Makki opens his mouth to trace the seam of his lips with his tongue, and his jaw pops open with a gasp. He feels Makki’s lips curve into a smile against his mouth before he takes the opportunity to angle Tooru’s face and feed his tongue in between his lips and past his teeth.

Takahiro tastes like a mixture of sweet cherries, and salt, and sunshine. And underneath it all is something uniquely Makki. It’s intoxicating.

He wants more.

Oikawa presses back against him, curling his free hand around the curve of Makki’s hip bone, and delving into his mouth to chase after his tongue when he pulls back for a breath.

Distantly, he thinks it should feel strange to have one of his best friends in his lap like this, but the steady heat and pressure of Makki’s thighs pressing down as he relaxes into him feels right in a way that he never could have anticipated. Makki licks into his mouth and sighs a contented breath into him. A soft _“Oh...”_ that tastes just as delicious as the cherry on his lips, and Tooru feels something click in his chest.

_Oh...oh fuck._

“Makki, wait—” he whispers between kisses as Makki chases his lips. “Takahiro, what— What are we doing?”

Makki pulls back, smoothing a hand over his cheek as he searches Tooru’s eyes. “Something we’ve both wanted to do for a long time,” he tells him with a sigh.

“But...we can’t...Makki, we live a world apart. We only have a few more days here. We shouldn’t…It’s not...” but he can’t make the words come out. Can’t bring himself to finish the thought.

_It's not enough._

He doesn’t want Takahiro for a few minutes, or an afternoon, or a weekend. He wants him for a lifetime, and even that would probably never be enough. It’s a fucking terrifying realization, but they’ve both made their choices. There’s no turning back now—they’d never forgive themselves.

“It’s not fair,” he whispers shakily.

“I know,” Takahiro says softly, cupping Tooru’s face in his hands. “So let’s not complicate things. Let’s just enjoy the little bit of time we have. Alright?”

And just like before, Hanamaki sounds so confident, like if Oikawa says no right now, he’ll laugh it off and pretend this never happened. Like it was all a joke. But the hands that tenderly cradle Tooru’s face, the fingers that trace his hairline, the eyes sparkling with something like hope...every other part of Makki that’s pressed up against him right now is begging him to say yes.

In that moment he realizes that, not only does Makki want this, this may be the only chance they’ll ever have, and his veins thrum with need. It’s stupid, and it’s selfish, and it will change _everything_ about their relationship, but Makki’s eyes flash with the same need and Tooru can’t bring himself to deny him any more.

“Alright,” he sighs. Makki smiles at him, soft and tinged with something bittersweet—just like the cherry flavor on his tongue.

He leans back in, eyes focused on Tooru’s lips—

“Makki, wait…” Hanamaki pulls back, worry creasing his brow, but before he can ask what’s wrong Oikawa sheepishly mumbles, “Your popsicle is melting.”

He holds up his arm for Makki to see where he’s just noticed cool drips of red trailing down toward his elbow.

Makki reaches out, but instead of taking back his treat he tugs Oikawa’s wrist to his mouth. He keeps his fingers wrapped loosely, holding Tooru’s gaze for a moment, giving him one last chance to reconsider, and then—

Makki flicks his tongue out, dragging it up the underside of Tooru’s arm to collect the syrup that’s trailed down, all without looking away from Tooru’s eyes. His movements are hesitant, testing, but whatever he finds in Oikawa’s gaze seems to clear away the last of his doubts.

When he reaches his hand, he presses an open mouthed kiss to Tooru’s pulse point, sucking at the juice there before moving up to lick at the dripping popsicle.

Though it had been a fleeting thought before, Oikawa is now certain that the waves are pulling him down, and he’s about to perish in the sea, drawn into the spray by the sirens deadly call.

That, or he’s forgotten how to breath. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Because Makki just intertwined their fingers, and now he is using _his_ hand to fuck the popsicle into his mouth.

He can’t look away, and Makki’s eyes flutter closed as he takes it in as far as he can, until it’s pressed against the back of his throat. He moans around it, and the sound makes Tooru’s head spin. In the back of his mind he thinks that if this is what dying is, and he can watch that expression on Makki’s face play on a loop forever, then he never wants to come up for air.

With one last teasing lick Makki cocks his head to the side, biting into his plush bottom lip for what feels like the hundredth time that day, and _gods_ it shouldn’t still be that attractive, but Tooru can feel his cock twitch in interest.

“You really like my mouth, don’t you?” Makki asks with a knowing smirk.

“Well, Makki-chan, you seem to have a need to keep it occupied.” He leans in, bumping his forehead against Makki’s and staring into his eyes. “I think I can help you with that.”

They come together again, but it’s nothing like the soft kisses they shared a moment ago. It’s hungry, and wild. Surging and cresting with nips and groans until Tooru pulls back and hums over Makki’s lips, “Why don’t you show me what that pretty mouth can do?”

He lifts his hips as Makki quickly rids him of his swim shorts, peeling them down over his thighs and tossing them to the side after scrambling backward off his lap. And then Makki just...looks.

His eyes are wide and his cheeks are colored pink to match his kiss swollen lips. He runs his hands slowly up Tooru’s thighs, following corded lines of muscle as he takes in the sight of his flushed cock, curved upward and leaking against his belly. The barely-there touch making Tooru shiver despite the heat of the room.

Unlike Oikawa, even though Hanamaki’s swim shorts are tented obscenely, he’s still covered. Tooru’s no stranger to nudity, what with his years spent in locker rooms in various stages of undress, but like _this_ , under Takahiro’s hungry eyes, he feels _exposed_ —vulnerable. He can feel the blush creeping down his chest, and he shifts his hips in a silent plea for Makki to touch him, kiss him, _anything_. Just do _something_.

In the next moment Makki’s hands find their way to his hips, and he’s jerked forward to the edge of the cushion with a surprised yelp. 

Makki huffs a laugh at the sound, and Tooru can’t help his face heating even further, but he isn’t given a chance to protest the treatment. Before he can even catch his breath, Makki reaches up and snatches the forgotten popsicle out of Tooru’s hand with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I’ll take that, thank you,” he says sliding it back into his mouth.

Tooru watches with heavy lidded eyes as Makki grinds the palm of his hand against his clothed erection, gripping himself through the fabric as he drives the ice pop between his puckered lips over and over, putting on a show on his knees in front of Tooru.

When he’s just about ready to beg for Makki to _just touch him already_ , Makki pulls the ice pop away and sinks down over his cock—taking him in all the way until his nose is pressed against the tight ridges of his abdomen.

The shock at the temperature difference makes Tooru gasp and jerk his hips. It’s _so cold,_ but _fuck_ , it feels so good.

Makki swallows, his throat constricting around him. It pulls a broken moan from Tooru’s chest and his spine curves in a tight arch, head thrown back against the sofa and fingers curled into the edge of the cushion.

He can feel heat blooming over his skin as Makki runs his mouth up and down his stiff length—his lips and tongue, stained red from the juice, slowly warming beneath the friction and his humid breaths.

Each time Makki bobs his head he rips another gasp straight from Tooru’s lungs. It’s so hard for him to wrench his eyes open as he loses himself to the burning slide of Makki’s tongue, but now that he’s got him on his knees he can’t bear to miss a second.

He clenches his teeth, struggling to focus, and a muffled groan escapes as that hot mouth releases him and moves down to the base of his cock. Makki drags his tongue over his balls, sucking them into his mouth, first one and then the other. He looks up at Tooru from between his legs, and too late he recognizes that glint in his eye for what it is—something dangerous.

Without warning, Takahiro presses the slushy tip of the popsicle to the sensitive underside of Tooru’s dick.

He hisses through his teeth, shuddering at the feel of the ice against him as it starts to melt and leak juice down his shaft toward Makki’s waiting mouth. He stays pressed up against the base of Tooru’s cock to catch the steady trickle of melting cherry as it drips from his head toward his balls.

 _“Aah...shit, Makki,”_ Tooru gasps as he threads his fingers into Makki’s hair, hips twitching, fighting against the urge to either move away from the stunning cold or press forward into Makki’s searing mouth.

Finally, Makki pulls the ice away, but his eyes still sparkle with mischief. He licks up the side of Tooru’s cock with the flat of his tongue, cleaning away as much of the juice as he can before he pops the remainder of the popsicle into his mouth—making a show out of hollowing his cheeks to suck it clean before tossing the empty wooden stick over his shoulder.

Tooru braces one hand behind him on the cushion, tightening his grip in Makki’s hair with the other.

“W-what are you doing?” he gasps as Hanamaki slowly leans closer, eyebrows raised and eyes sparkling as he noses along his dick.

Rather than answer, Makki grins impishly from between his legs, and plunges his mouth back down over Tooru, pressing the last bit of ice against him with his tongue. 

_“Aah! M-makki—”_ he sucks in a sharp breath and his hips jerk on instinct, thrusting straight to the back of Makki’s throat, gagging him.

“Oh, fuck. Are you okay?” He stammers, immediately dropping his grip from Takahiro’s hair. “I didn’t mean to—” On the floor Makki tips his head back, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, but he doesn’t look upset. He’s smiling.

Hanamaki falls forward and kisses a sticky wet line from Tooru’s knee to his hip. He blinks up at him, “Do you want to fuck my mouth?”

Tooru can’t answer. His jaw falls open, but he’s at a loss for words with Makki staring up at him through his lashes like that. He stutters, desperately trying to process whether he had heard him correctly, or not.

“Mmm...I thought so,” Hanamaki hums against the crease of his hip. He looks up at Oikawa, who’s still gaping down at him, and wraps his fingers loosely around his wrist, guiding his hand back to thread into his hair. Makki positions himself with his lips right against the head of his cock, mouth open and tongue sticking out. He whispers, “Fuck me, Tooru.”

Oikawa feels any remaining self-control evaporate with those three words. He brushes the bangs out of Makki’s eyes and then tightens his fingers in his hair, pulling him slowly down, memorizing the way Takahiro’s pretty mouth stretches around his cock as he slides over his tongue.

Tooru hits the back of his throat and holds him there for a few seconds before pulling him back up by his hair. He watches, mesmerized, as Makki gasps for air, eyes fluttering and pupils blown, but mouth still open and waiting.

With his feet planted against the floor, and one arm still braced against the sofa behind him, Oikawa ruts his hips into Makki’s mouth. He sets a brutal pace, moving faster with each whine and keen he pulls out of him until Makki’s breaths are ragged and his eyes brim with unshed tears

 _“M-makki-chan...I...I’m..”_ He tightens his grip in Makki’s hair and tries to pull him off, but Makki gives him a hard look and digs his fingers into Tooru’s thighs, sinking down as far as he can and holding himself there as Tooru’s hips stutter and jerk.

He cries out, a breathy moan echoing through the room as he spills down Takahiro’s throat. _“Taah!—Taka—”_ he gasps through shallow breaths as Makki swallows around him.

With his chest still heaving, Oikawa hauls Makki up from the floor, clawing desperately at his waistband and _finally_ wraps a hand around him. It only takes a few moments before Makki spends himself across Tooru’s chest—thrusting up into his hand, voice raw as he moans his name into the crook of his neck.

They’re still panting into each other’s mouths when the door swings wide open across the room, and they both flinch when they’re greeted with a loud, “Oh, _what the fuck_ you guys?!”

Oikawa wraps his arms around Makki, pulling him into his chest protectively as he hears the front door slam closed, and Iwaizumi’s annoyed (or more likely, embarrassed) stomping away from the common room. Takahiro turns his face into Oikawa’s neck, giggling, and he can feel the blush on his cheek where it presses into his shoulder.

They hear the low rumble of Matsukawa’s laugh follow Iwaizumi down the hall toward the bedrooms. “Pay up, Iwaizumi,” he says, making the pair on the couch laugh even harder at being caught.

“Makki, we’re trading rooms!” Iwaizumi shouts from down the hall, sounding like he was already moving his suitcase out of the bedroom he’d been sharing with Oikawa, and into the one that Makki and Mattsun had claimed at the beginning of the trip.

“Obviously!” Makki calls out after him.

They both snicker into each other’s shoulders, embarrassed to have been caught, but giddy at the reminder that they have the rest of the week to spend together.

Five more days of _this_ , Oikawa thinks, pulling his arms tighter around Makki’s middle. Hanamaki pulls back just far enough to rest their foreheads together, and Tooru feels his heart skip a beat when he takes in the soft curve of his lip—a smile he’s never seen before on Makki’s face. Only five more days.

Fuck...they’re both idiots. 

“Stop it,” Takahiro whispers.

He quirks one eyebrow at Makki. “Stop what?”

“I can practically hear you overthinking.” He kisses the tip of Tooru’s nose and casts a glance over his shoulder toward the bedrooms. “Just stop worrying, and come shower with me.”

Oikawa lets his head fall back against the sofa with a sigh as Makki climbs off his lap. “Okay, Makki-chan. Can you..ah...toss me my shorts?”

The suffering groan they hear from Iwaizumi has them falling over each other in giggles all over again.

* * *

Five days later, Oikawa stands in the airport, bag resting at his feet as he says his final goodbyes to his friends. Iwaizumi’s flight has already departed, taking him back to California, and after one last hug and a nod toward Hanamaki, Matsukawa heads toward their gate.

Oikawa watches him go, fingers tangled with Hanamaki’s. He keeps his eyes focused on Mattsun’s retreating back as long as he can, and his heart aches. He can’t bring himself to look at Takahiro.

Not yet.

Not when it means the end of their time together.

They haven’t said goodbye, but he already feels like there’s a piece of him missing. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Hanamaki reaches up with shaking fingers to wipe away the tears from his cheeks.

 _“F-fuck,”_ he sobs, breath bursting out of him in a rush. “I...Takahiro, I lov—”

Makki yanks him forward by the collar of his jacket—silencing the confession with a deep kiss. It steals Tooru’s breath away, but somehow, even as they part, it leaves him feeling full—able to convey everything they couldn’t put into words through the firm press of lips.

“I know, Tooru.” Makki whispers against his lips. He bumps his forehead against Oikawa’s affectionately. “Me too.”

“We could...maybe?”

Makki shakes his head. “You don’t want that.”

Tooru wants to argue. He wants to cry, and scream, and fight to keep some part of the joy that they’ve found in each other over the past few days, but in his heart he knows that Makki’s right.

It would be too hard, and he can’t ask any more of Takahiro than he already has. As much as it hurts right now, he doesn’t want a relationship based on saying goodbye, and Takahiro deserves better than that.

Makki leans in, one last time, to press those pretty pink lips against Tooru’s. His eyes are red-rimmed and watery when he pulls back, but he grins, tapping a knuckle under Tooru’s chin.

“Chin up, doll,” he says quietly. “We’ll always have the beach house.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Did Takahiro just meme Tooru with the super romantic “we’ll always have Paris” line from Casablanca?
> 
> Yes. Yes he did. <3
> 
> For the record, I had no intention of making this sad. It was these damn boys! So, I hope the smut makes up for the FEELINGS. Ugh.
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
>  Drop me a comment, or come find me on tumblr/twitter _if you’re so inclined_  
> 
> 
> [tumblr](https://beauxxxtifullies.tumblr.com/) || [twitter](https://twitter.com/beauXtiful_lies)  
>  ♡ ♡ ♡


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